


despite the absence of sun

by LadyMerlin



Series: RoyEd Week 2020 [4]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Blind Character, F/M, First Dates, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Post-Canon, Pre-Alphonse Elric/Winry Rockbell, Pre-Relationship, Royed Week 2020: Day 5, temporary coma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:08:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27974936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyMerlin/pseuds/LadyMerlin
Summary: Edward wakes up six inches over his own body, and knows something has gone sorely wrong.
Relationships: Edward Elric & Roy Mustang, Edward Elric/Roy Mustang
Series: RoyEd Week 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2016677
Comments: 6
Kudos: 130
Collections: Roy/Ed Week 2020





	despite the absence of sun

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Royed Week 2020: Day 5 - Cold
> 
> Honestly this idea had been buzzing around in my head for a long time, and I decided to execute and use it for this prompt, even though it's not exactly - I mean - it's not a "sharing a bed for warmth" level of fic but *shrugs*. You'll see what I mean. 
> 
> The title for this fic comes from a song called "Swim" by Jack's Mannequin, which is a real jam for dire straits and the end times. 
> 
> NOTE: NO ONE DIES.

When he opens his eyes, Ed is expecting to be in a world of pain. His arm has just been restored, and while this is - to all accounts - an unprecedented recovery, it doesn’t take much more than common sense to figure out that re-connecting flesh and blood will not be an easy or painless exercise. 

Then again, he hasn’t met many people with a lot of common sense. Even Al has his moments of airheadedness, and he’s the most stable person Ed knows, apart from maybe Riza. It’s thinking about Al that distracts him from the unexpected absence of pain, and allows his attention to turn to reality as Ed looks down at himself to assess the actual damage.

He sees his feet, and then a flat surface - the wall - _through_ his feet. When he lifts a hand up to his face, it’s no better. His fingers are as transparent as a pane of glass, and his own limbs are mere outlines of contrast against the walls and furniture in what must be a hospital room, four generic blue-grey walls. That’s when Ed realises that he’s actually not even lying in bed, but in fact hovering a good six inches above it, through no apparent effort of his own.

Despite all the crazy shit he’s seen in his life, Ed had never believed in the existence of life after death, but it looks like the universe had once again conspired to change his mind without his consent. Emotions and thoughts flicker through his mind lightning quick, one after another, barely brushing against him before the next one takes its place. Shock, fear, pain, grief, and a deep and abiding elation at the fact that they won! He punched (a?) god in the face, and they _won_! 

He wonders if Al is at a celebration, before he remembers that if he’s a ghost, it means he’s dead, and his brother is unlikely to be celebrating anything. The thought of it is too painful to bear, so he pretends he hasn’t thought it. The scientific method is always a good distraction.

He sits up but remains hovering precisely six inches above his bed. It’s only when he looks down below him that he notices that his physical body is still lying there, looking nothing more than like he’s having a nap. No one would begrudge him a nap, surely, he thinks nonsensically. He’s definitely in a hospital room though. Maybe they haven’t realised he’s dead yet. He’s not sure he wants to be here when they figure it out. He wants to be somewhere else, like a library, so he can figure out whether there’s any way for him to communicate with Al from the afterlife, but something tells him it’s a bad idea to leave the hospital. He’s not a fan of hospitals, or doctors, or any sort of enforced bed-rest, but his gut instinct has never led him wrong. 

He turns to put his legs on the ground to stand up before it occurs to him that as a ghost it’s his god given right to not stand. He just unfolds himself into a standing position, sinking lower so that he can look at his own face properly. He thinks he’s sunk into the floor up to his shins, but he’s carefully not looking down, because he knows his own limits. It should be nauseating, but since his stomach is incorporeal, the nausea is purely psychological. 

He doubts there are any other ghosts around who could talk him out of a panic attack.

He stays with his body for fifteen minutes because it feels like the thing to do - in case, y’know, he wakes up. But fifteen minutes is as long as he lasts before he gets bored. He spends another ten minutes fucking around and trying to catch hold of the doorknob before he remembers that he can probably just float through the door. He goes through a neighbouring wall instead, just because he can.

The hospital - because it is a hospital (he checked) - is full of patients, but there’s a fairly calm atmosphere. It wouldn’t have been this calm if Father had won, but mercifully, the universe had preferred Ed’s outcome. All the rooms are unlabeled, which he supposes is some sort of security measure, but Ed has priorities. He follows the scent of food, and carefully doesn’t think about how his incorporeal nose can smell very-corporeal spicy noodles at a distance. 

He’s not far from the canteen, and even though it’s busy, he again notes that there’s no frenetic energy. That’s good. He doesn’t know how long it’s been since the promised day, but it looks like things have settled slightly. He wonders if the bastard colonel has already started executing his plan to take over Amestris. Ed thinks Mustang will do a damn sight better than King Bradley had, though it’s not a very high bar to meet. 

Of course, he can’t queue up to buy food, and he definitely can’t eat, so he hangs around on top of different tables, convincing his stomach that it’s currently dead and therefore doesn’t need feeding. He makes a quick exit when he overhears a nurse - a young one by the sounds of it - ask if anyone else feels like they’re being watched. He frowns. He hadn’t actually intended to put anyone off their food. 

The front desk is two floors down, and Ed practices phasing through the floors. After the first level, he decides to save his experimentation for a more familiar space, just so he doesn’t end up in a ladies bathroom again. Winry would have cut his dick off if she heard he’d been peeping, though Ed’s not sure he’s even interested in anything he’d have seen. He can appreciate a good looking girl - lady - like anyone else can, but objectively. From a distance. Maybe Teacher and Granny Pinako and Colonel Armstrong and Winry and Riza have traumatized him. 

He laughs to himself and thinks that each one of them would be proud, if they’d heard his admission. It’s a shame that, well… He’d had a lot of apologies to make. 

He takes the stairs like a normal person, and casually appreciates how nice it is that his knee isn’t hurting for the first time in months. He speaks out loud, but there’s no echo in the stairwell. His feet don’t make a sound against the linoleum. The sunlight probably just passes through him, like he's not there. He should have come to terms with his mortality years ago, and it’s surprising now that when he’s actually facing it, he’s less brave than he thought he would be. 

Maybe he’d begun to believe his own hype. Maybe he’d begun to believe that he was actually invincible. Al had always warned him against hubris, but he’d never listened. It’s sad that he’ll never get to tell Al he was right. 

He hovers over the receptionist’s shoulder as she flips through her log book until he sees what he’s looking for. Al’s room, on the third floor, pretty close to where he’d woken up. 

No one’s seen him so far, so he doesn’t think it’ll cause any trouble if he phases through the building wall and goes up from the outside. At least that way he’ll avoid seeing things he doesn’t want to. 

It’s so nice outside that he’s almost shocked by it. By the coolness of the gardens, which have only been destroyed by rubble a little bit. It feels like he’s just missed a heavy downpour, and the earth smells like petrichor. The sun is slowly setting behind buildings and the sky is a strange mix of grey and blue and orange, like it can’t quite make up its mind. Ed can’t remember the last time he appreciated a sunset. There’s a breeze rustling through the leaves on fallen trees, but Ed can’t feel it. He wonders what kind of bullshit afterlife this is, if he can smell food but not feel the wind. He bites his tongue. Swearing here would feel like blasphemy, somehow. 

He floats up like a helium balloon, almost without conscious effort, until he’s hovering outside the third floor. Al’s room is somewhere here, so he goes from window to window until he finds his brother, and Winry. 

He almost goes past them entirely, because he’s looking for a tiny blonde girl and a giant suit of armour. When he sees a tiny blonde girl and an almost tinier blonde boy, he - he doesn’t recognise Al.

He wants to cry, but he’s not sure whether it’s guilt for having taken so long to find his brothers body (or for having lost it in the first place), or whether it’s from the joy of actually seeing him, living and breathing, albeit hooked up to a drip bag and pipes shoved down his nose to help him breathe.

Al looks sick, like he’d be blown away by a stiff wind, but he’ll recover. Ed knows he will. There’s no alternative. Al will recover from sheer force of stubbornness, and he’ll be smart enough to not try and bring Ed back from death, and everything - all of it - will have been worth it. 

That’s when he notices that Al’s tiny, skeletal hand is holding Winry’s hand, their fingers laced together. They’re not even talking, they’re just sitting there, holding hands. He waits for the envy (not jealousy, because he could never be jealous of Al), but it doesn’t come, even when he notices Winry’s thumb softly stroking the back of Al’s palm. There’s no envy, just a soft, aching sweetness in his chest, happiness at knowing that Al won’t be alone, and grief from the knowledge that he’ll never be able to experience anything like this, because his time is up.

Suddenly he understands why people always used to go on about the tragedy of young people dying. He’d always been ready to throw his life away for the right reason, but god. It’s such a waste. He’s got so much left to see and do and he’ll never get the chance. It’s a bittersweet thing, because he still doesn’t regret having Al’s body back. If only there had been another way. 

The door to Al’s room swings open, and tellingly, Al and Winry yank their hands apart. Ed wants to snicker. Teasing the two of them would have been so much fun. 

Hawkeye walks in and she’s got a grim look on her face. She’s clean, and her hair looks freshly washed, but her aura feels smudged, somehow. Like she’s exhausted, or like she hasn’t yet recovered from some soul deep injury. 

“I argued with the Colonel to tell you this, Al. It’s about Ed.” Ed understands now what it means when people say someone’s stepped on their grave. Every hair on his body is standing on end. He didn’t think an incorporeal form could have a physical response, but clearly today is a day of learning for him. 

Al’s face is drawn - he’s going to have to eat more, Ed hopes he can find that diary he was always writing in - and his eyes are so wide they’re almost glowing. This is still a much better look for him than the glowing red eyes of the armour. “I thought you said he’s okay? Where is he?” Al demands, voice coming out high and pitchy, as he tries to get out of bed. Both Winry and Hawkeye move to push him back. Ed owes them one. 

“He’s alive. He’s alive,” Hawkeye repeats, as if the repetition will soothe Al. Ed and Al both know there are fates worse than death, so it’s not entirely reassuring. “He collapsed while you were still sleeping. Now he’s not waking up. The doctors say it’s some form of coma, but there’s no way to figure out what’s wrong now. There aren’t any symptoms.” 

“So what are we supposed to do? How do we fix him?” 

Hawkeye watches Al with blank eyes. “We just have to wait. He may come back on his own.” 

Ed is - Ed feels like someone’s dropped him in a tub full of numbing cream, and his skin is tingling all over. He’s cold on the outside but inside his gut he’s burning. He hadn’t realised that he’s still - that his body is still alive. Maybe that’s why he can still feel his physical responses. Or maybe this whole thing is just a hallucination. He knows which option he prefers. 

A generic flower vase on the sideboard cracks, perfectly coinciding with Ed’s sudden burst of fury, and everyone in the room turns to stare at it as water starts seeping through the crack. Ed wonders if he should be annoyed or grateful that the vase wasn’t dramatic enough to explode, the way he sort of wants to now. 

It’s probably best for everyone if he leaves the room before his emotions can manifest in any other way. 

He phases through the wall to get away as efficiently as he can, only to find himself in Mustang’s room, where the man is holding court. After what he’s just heard, it should be annoying, but instead Ed just feels vaguely fond, and unsurprised that even in a hospital bed, Mustang has enough charisma to be a leader of men (and women). 

It takes him a moment to figure out what’s going on. Mustang is learning how to read Braille, while Havoc is reading out reports to him. Fuery is working on some sort of unobtrusive device for Mustang to wear in his ear, so he can be fed information even though he can’t see any visual cues. Ed is reluctantly impressed. 

He lingers there because it’s comfortable and familiar, and far better than the fraught environment next door. Riza still hasn’t returned, and Ed doesn’t think he wants to know what she and Al are talking about. It’s easier to drown himself in the friendly bickering of the team, and he feels himself relaxing as he observes their interactions. They seem mostly unharmed, but their auras are a little smudgy, like Hawkeye’s. He doesn’t blame them for being tired. He’s tired too, even though he doesn’t feel it right now. 

The smudgiest aura belongs to Mustang though, almost as dark as the circles around his eyes. When a nurse appears and chases the rest of the team away, his aura darkens even more as he slumps back onto the mattress with wide, cloudy eyes, staring blindly ahead. 

“I keep wondering if I could have done something differently,” he whispers. 

For a single, terrifying moment, Ed thinks Mustang has realised he’s there, somehow. It only lasts for a single moment though, because Mustang lifts his hands to cover his face, looking entirely too vulnerable for Ed’s comfort. Mustang would never have let his guard down around anyone other than Hawkeye, maybe, but least of all Ed. 

The thought hurts, but Ed doesn't have time to analyse it. 

Mustang looks - he looks broken like this. Tired and small and older than his years, and Ed doesn’t think he’d want to be seen like this either. But the man is entirely too appealing, even when he looks like he’s been run over by a truck a couple of times. Not appealing in a weird way, but - Ed understands why people like the bastard. He’s relatable. Empathetic? Maybe? 

Still, none of this explains why Mustang is talking to himself. “It’s odd,” Mustang continues, voice muffled behind his hands. “I’d exchange this - my victory, all of it - for you to just be okay.” 

Ed’s first thought is that something happened to Riza, or maybe Madame Christmas, or maybe to the secret wife Jean and Breda had been betting on for years. God, he hopes not. He’ll never admit it, but Mustang has suffered enough. 

“I don’t know how I’m going to face your brother, Ed.” 

It takes a second - one that feels like an eternity - for Ed to hear what Mustang says. Another to actually understand it. His heart isn’t beating but if it was, he’s not sure if it would have sped up or slowed down, to match the crawl of time. 

“I wish I’d told you everything I’d meant to. But in the end I guess you were right. I’m just a coward pretending to be something I’m not.”

Ed stays still and quiet, because he needs to hear this, and he’s terrified that he’ll manifest into existence at the worst possible time. Mustang would never say any of this to him. Not even if Ed sat on his chest and forced it out of him, though Ed isn’t sure when that even became an option. 

“Everyone keeps saying that I should carry on, even if you don’t wake up. Like it’s a foregone conclusion. Even the doctors are talking like there’s no hope. I think the only ones who don’t want to believe it are me and Alphonse. But really, if anyone could beat the odds and come out of a mysterious coma, it’s you.” 

He laughs, and it’s a sad, wet little sound. It makes something clench in Ed’s gut, like someone had stuck their hand through an open wound and tried to play with his guts.

“The truth?” Mustang sighs, after a long moment. “The truth is that I’m tired. Ed, I’m so fucking tired. I don’t know when my goals changed, but they have, and I guess I was really looking forward to finally talking to you about my feelings. It’s really selfish, but if that doesn’t happen, I don’t think I can go on.” 

He rubs his eyes and Ed resists the urge to float down and put his hand on Mustang’s shoulder. He’s not sure if Mustang would be able to feel him, and he doesn’t want to risk making things worse by making Mustang feel unsafe in his own bed. 

“If you were here, you’d probably kick my ass for being such a defeatist, wouldn’t you?” Ed nods even though Mustang can’t see him, because he totally would. “I bet you’d kick my ass even after I confessed my feelings, which are admittedly pretty inappropriate.” Ed’s not so sure about that, and he’s so unspeakably thankful that he’s got some time to think about how he wants to react. “You’d kick my ass and then you’d laugh at how pathetic I’m being, and I’d deserve it.” 

The worst part of all of this, worse even than Al’s reaction (because Ed knows his brother - he’d survive Ed’s death the same way he survived everything else - with a spine made of spite and titanium, and a mind like a steep trap), is how utterly defeated Mustang sounds. How hopeless, and devoid of joy. 

“I don’t want to be Fuhrer, anymore, I think,” Mustang admits a long moment later. “I think I’m tired of losing things, and people. Maybe it’d be better if I just let someone else do this. I’ve made enough mistakes.” 

That, out of everything, is what finally makes Ed snap. They haven’t come this far, and worked this hard, just for Mustang to give up on it because he’s - because he’s heartbroken or some shit. It’s unacceptable. Ed won’t allow it. There’s no one else in this country whom Ed would trust to run it fucking properly, and Mustang hasn’t dragged himself to and from the gates of hell just to throw it all away on a whim. 

Ed knows what he has to do next, but he hesitates for just one second before he actually moves to do it, because there’s just one thing he wants to do first. He floats down and lets his feet touch the ground for the first time since he woke up like this. Standing beside Mustang’s bed, it puts him exactly at face level with the man. He’d never be able to get away with this shit in real life, so he supposes he should get what he can, while he’s stuck in this weird limbo situation. He leans in and presses a kiss against Mustang’s cheek, as softly as he can. 

Mustang’s hand immediately flies up to his face and he turns to look exactly where Ed is standing, frozen like a deer in the headlights. Ed reminds himself that Mustang is still fucking blind, and can’t see him no matter how much it feels like it. Mustang smiles a little ruefully, a more honest expression than anything he’s had all day. “I must be losing my mind. It feels like you’re really here. They probably shouldn’t let crazy people be in charge of the country.” 

Ed’s had enough. He flees. 

Once he’s back in his own hospital room, he finds that his body is surrounded by doctors and nurses, all poking and prodding at him, talking about him like he’s not there.

Well. He supposes to them, he isn’t there, but that doesn’t make it any less rude. He needs them to leave, so he can try getting back into his own body, so he steps into the next room, carefully not looking at Al or Winry, and with all his might and every ounce of fury he can muster, kicks at a life monitor. The device goes off, screeching and wailing like it’s possessed by a philosophers stone. Al jerks out of bed just as the doctors swarm over from the next room, looking for a more interesting target than Ed’s body. 

He won’t have long before they come back into his room, but something tells Ed he won’t need it. Lying down on top of his body is instinctive, but it takes a little bit of effort to actually sink back into it, because his spirit (?) keeps wanting to hover. He grits his teeth and does it, forcing himself to stick to the constraints of his own body, like colouring within the lines and forcing magnets together at the same time. 

It takes a few moments, but eventually he feels the resistance give away, as sensation comes screaming back into his limbs. His actual eyes are unused to being open, so they water rapidly, and as he’d expected, his arm is still not accustomed to being attached to his body. He imagines it had been enjoying its freedom until Ed forcibly yanked it back from the gate. He doesn’t begrudge it the temper tantrum. 

He rolls out of bed - or at least he tries to - and collapses in a groaning heap on the floor. He’s barely made it to his feet when a nurse pushes the door of his room open, and freezes. Ed offers her a grin, though he’s not sure how shaky it is. “Hey,” he tries, “any chance I could get something to eat? I’m starving.” 

-

The nurse had screamed her bloody head off, and Al had stumbled in himself, terrified to find out what she was screaming about, but unable to resist the knowledge. He and Winry had cried on Ed for hours. 

It took Ed almost a full day before anyone was willing to let him out of their sight. It was evening by then, and he managed to slip out of his room during the shift change. Someone is going to get in trouble because of it, but he’d had enough of being fussed over. 

Mercifully, Mustang’s room is empty save for Mustang himself. Ed tries to open the door as loudly as he can, without actually damaging hospital properly. “Hello?” Mustang asks, doing a pretty good job of hiding the nervousness in his voice. He’s right to be nervous - Ed isn’t sure why guards haven’t been posted at his door, when he’s the most likely candidate for an assassination. 

“Hey,” Ed replies, hiding his own nervousness, hoping that he doesn’t mess this up irreparably. 

“Edward,” Mustang says, breaking into a smile. “You’re alright.” 

Ed steps in and closes the door when it becomes clear that Mustang isn’t going to kick him out on sight. “I thought they’d have told you,” he says, because Mustang still sounds a little surprised.

“They did,” Mustang admits, ducking his head, “but it’s nice to have confirmation of it myself.” Ed knows what he means. He’s been touching Al at five minute intervals, because he still can’t believe that he’s got his body back, and that he’s flesh and blood again. 

“How are you?” Ed asks, after a beat. 

Mustang blinks. “I should be the one asking you that. I’m alright. As well as can be expected in the circumstances, and better now that I know you’re well.”

“Thanks,” Ed replied, and feels the awkwardness creeping in when he can’t think of what to say next, all his plans falling apart. What can he say now - that he’s sorry about Mustang’s eyes? He wouldn’t appreciate that! “How are things with the Fuhrership and everything?” God, he might as well as be asking about the weather.

“Better,” Mustang repeats, the smile on his face growing wider and softer at the same time, “now that I know you’re well.”

Ed can’t believe Mustang said that - he’s not sure he heard right. “Listen,” Mustang continues, bulldozing past Ed’s awkward silence. “I’ve been meaning to ask you. When all of this is over - when we’re all out of the hospital and back on our feet, would you like to have dinner with me?”

Ed’s jaw drops, and his mouth goes dry. Maybe this is still a part of his coma dream. This can’t be real. Maybe Mustang is joking. Maybe he means like a work thing, with the rest of the team. 

Mustang’s smile fades a little, and even though Ed knows he can’t see, he imagines that Mustang’s eyes look a little duller as the silence stretches on. “Or not,” Mustang starts, backpedaling. “Sorry, I didn’t think-”

Ed interrupts before the idiot digs a hole in the drywall to hide his shame. “Like a date?” 

“Sorry?” Mustang asks, uncertain. 

“D'you mean dinner, like a date?” Ed repeats himself. 

“If you like,” Mustang says softly, like he’s still not sure he isn’t about to be rejected point blank. 

“Yes,” Ed decides as the word leaves his mouth. “Yes, I’d like to go on a date with you.” Because he would, and it’s taken him this long to pick up on it, and he’s not going to waste any more time on misunderstandings and hesitation. 

“Really?” Mustang asks, and the blushes like he hadn’t meant to. “I mean, that’s great! I’m really happy,” he adds, like a dork, as if Ed can’t tell from the look on his face.

“Me too,” Ed replies, taking a step closer to Mustang’s bed, realising that maybe Mustang himself might not be sure. “Thanks for asking,” he says, even though he means ‘thanks for making the first move’.

“Of course,” Mustang replies graciously, and Ed can already imagine how he’s going to be on their date, all manners and charm. “Thank you for accepting.” 

Ed doesn’t signify that with a response. “Can I come closer?” He asks, because he’s not great with words; actions have always been his forte. “I promise I’m not going to hurt you, Mustang.” 

Mustang’s eyebrows go up but he nods and extends his hand. Ed ignores it and instead leans his weight against the railing on the side of Mustang's bed, his fingers wrapped around the steel bars. Mustang's face isn't far, but Ed moves carefully - because he doesn't want to overbalance and fall over - and presses his lips against Mustang's cheek. Mustang hasn't shaved in a while and he smells like disinfectant and hospital sheets. He's soft, and worn, and warm. It's much, _much_ better than the first time Ed had done this.

He almost wants to do it again, but his courage fails him, and he darts backwards before he catches sight of Mustang’s expression, looking like someone hit him with something really heavy in the back of his head. He doesn't look too mad, which Ed will take as a win. He opens the door but doesn’t leave the room. “I’m getting out of the hospital tonight, but I might get a little busy looking after Al and planning his wedding and all that. Will you call me? When you’re out?” 

Mustang's hand is pressed against his cheek, and his eyes are wide and unseeing. He looks like he's staring directly at Ed, like he might catch sight of Ed if he just tries hard enough, but Ed supposes life-long habits are hard to break. At his words, Mustang's expression breaks into a smile, like sunlight through the clouds. “On one condition.” 

“Oh?” Ed asks, heart jumping into his throat. Maybe this was a joke all along. Maybe he’d dreamt the entire confession, from earlier. 

“Call me Roy, please?” 

Every tense muscle in Ed’s body relaxes, all at once. He smiles back, even though Mustang — Roy can’t see it. “Sure thing, Roy. I’ll see you soon, yeah?” 

Roy’s grin is as brilliant as the sun itself. “See you, Ed.” 

Ed waits for the door to close before he finally lets himself grin. He would have shouted in delight, but he’s pretty sure Roy would have heard him, and he’s not ready for that level of embarrassment yet. He’s grinning even as he bursts into Al’s room, startling Al and Winry into snatching their hands apart - their wedding is going to be _sickening_ \- he can’t wait to see how Al reacts to this. 

**Author's Note:**

> I should've named this "there's a *GHOST* in the *HOSPITAL*" but as usual, it wasn't anywhere near funny enough...
> 
> Love is always appreciated. I hope everyone is doing well and keeping safe.


End file.
